A Special Kind of Birthday
by jenny jar
Summary: Ruth decides to celebrate her Birthday
1. Chapter 1

**A/N ** Whatever you can recognize, isn't min

English is neither my first, nor my second language. Proceed at your own risk.

1.

"The report on Omar's cell," she hands him a folder.

He takes it and searches for a clear spot on his desk to put it down. "Thank you, Ruth," he says with a quick glance at her.

He looks beyond exhausted, and she hesitates a little before announcing, "So, I am off." Then hastily adds, "Unless there is something else you need me to…"

"No," he shakes his head, "you should go." He checks his watch, sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. "It's late, and it is your Birthday, so you should…"

For a few long moments, she remains by his desk, as if waiting for him to change his mind, then nods, turns, and walks to the door.

"Ruth," he says her name so quietly, she almost misses it.

"Yes, Harry." She quickly turns to him.

"Would it be terrible offensive of me were I to wish you a Happy Birthday?" he asks softly.

"I though you already did," she waives in the direction of the Grid, buzzing with artificial lights beyond the glass wall of Harry's office.

"I mean, not as a part of Section D, but as an old…" he falters, searching for the right word, before offering, "friend."

"What, no scavenger hunt? No gift?" If it were anyone else, under any other circumstances, it would've sounded like teasing.

Surprised, he looks up at her. "I was pretty sure you wouldn't appreciate it. This time around. Considering…" He means to continue, but stops himself. He looks away, then back at her. "Well, you know…"

Ruth meets his gaze and gives him a barely perceptible nod. Harry sighs.

They both remain quiet – she is worrying the button on her cardigan, he is watching her nervous fingers.

"How about a drink, Harry?" she finally asks, shooting him a quick glance.

For a moment he forgets to breathe. "A drink? With you?"

"It is my Birthday," she is back to tugging at her button. "And you didn't get me a gift."

He swallows hard. "You want me to buy you a drink? For your Birthday?"

"As an old," there is a hint of a smile on her lips, "friend."

"Yes," he nods quickly, "just tell me when."

She chews on her lip before managing a quiet, "Now?"

He glances at the Grid, "I thought you all were going to George's…."

"No, it's tomorrow. Tonight, they are babysitting…"

"The trade conference," he finishes for her.

She chews her lip some more, "Well?"

"Yes!" he pushes himself away from his desk and gets up. A few pieces of paper go flying in different directions at his sudden move. Ruth makes a sound that is suspiciously similar to a snort.

The tips of Harry's ears turn faintly pink. "Could you give me ten minutes," he says, surveying the piles of paperwork on his desk…

When they get to his car, Harry opens the door for her and asks, "Where would you like to go?"

Ruth waits for him to get behind the wheel, before she says, "Why don't I let you pick a place." Her gaze is warm, and Harry misses the buckle's catch.

"Right," he says, steering the car out of the parking garage. "As you wish."

They don't talk much during the ride – a little about the warmth of the spring, a little about their favorite time of the day – and yet after the awkwardness of the first few minutes, a distinct air of comfort, of easy familiarity settles in the car. As if they do it every day - get in the car, drive home, have dinner…

From time they exchange glances, and then they are back to him watching the road and her staring out her window. The classical radio station softly plays Vivaldi, and the streets, blissfully void of traffic at this hour, silently glide by the windows, disappearing into the evening dusk.

Harry parks the car and points at a small pub across the street. "I hope this place meets your approval."

"You think the posh restaurant was a problem?" she gives a soft chuckle.

"I frequently wondered," he answers quietly.

"Oh, Harry," she puts her hand on his sleeved forearm and squeezes lightly. She quickly let go and turns away to deal with her belt.

He opens his mouth, closes it again, shakes his head, and says, "Shall we?"

Inside, the pub looks just any other pub. They take a table in the corner, and Harry asks, "What would you like?"

When he leaves to get their drinks, Ruth watches his retreating back until Harry disappears in the crowd around the bar. While waiting for him to come back, she looks around, shifts the napkin stand in the middle of the table, and buttons and unbuttons her cardigan several times, seemingly unable to decide if she is warm enough to take it off. When she sees Harry returning, she takes a deep breath and leaves the cardigan unbuttoned.

He puts their drinks on the table and says, "I took the liberty of ordering us some sandwiches."

At Ruth's confused look, he explains, "I wouldn't risk anything more complex in this place."

"I am not hungry," she starts to object, but he stops her with the wave of his hand. "I don't believe you had a chance to have lunch today. Or dinner."

"And you know that how?" There is a distinct note of challenge in her voice.

"I am the Head of the Section," he tries to smooth the words with a smile.

"You know of everyone's lunches and dinners habits?"

"Well, no, but…" suddenly he is on the back foot, but he quickly recovers, "Speaking of," he shifts forward, as if trying to convey a secret. "Do you know what was that weird spice in the little round things Tariq brought in last week? I feel a heartburn coming just talking about it."

For a moment it seems like Ruth is still trying to hold on to her annoyance with him, but she can't. And so she grins and goes into a mini lecture on spices of Middle East. He watches her with as much attention, as if she were talking about the latest uncovered threat. And she gets so involved that she doesn't notice Harry's mouth quiver in a hint of a mischievous smile.

When they get their sandwiches, Harry tags on the knot of his tie, "Do you mind?"

Ruth stiffens for a split of a second before letting out a little cough. "No, of course not." But despite her nonchalance, her gaze lingers on his hands, as he removes the ties and opens a couple of top buttons.

"Ah, this is so much better," Harry cranks his neck, and Ruth visibly forces herself to drags her gaze away from his now exposed throat. He notices, and his brow inches up in surprise.

Turns out it's not only Ruth, who hasn't had time for lunch today. Harry finishes his sandwich before Ruth manages to work through less than a half of hers.

"Not good?" Harry asks, nodding at her plate.

Ruth glances at his empty plate and, without a word, cuts a large piece of her remaining sandwich and pushes it toward Harry. "It is good. I am just not that hungry."

He looks a little doubtful, but takes her up on her offer.

Sandwiches finished, Harry leans back in his chair, scotch in his hand. "Would you like another drink?" he notices her almost empty wine glass.

Ruth glances at the thick crowd around the bar and ducks her head. "Maybe later." She fiddles with her napkin, before asking, "Why did you pick this pub?"

"You will see." Harry checks his watch. "Should be no more than a couple of minutes. Can you wait?"

Ruth nods, but then suddenly a shadow of alarm passes over her face. "There isn't going to be a bloody cake and a candle, is there?"

Harry almost chocks on his drink. "No, no bloody cake," he promises after a wheezing bark of laughter, "no candle."

Ruth looks at him with a somewhat doubtful expression on her face.

"Alright," he concedes, "would you like to guess? Three questions? It will be almost like a treasure hunt." His smile is warm and indulgent, and Ruth relaxes somewhat in response. Still, while her eyes dart around the room in search of possible clues, her fingers are busy with plucking at the napkin. The soft paper doesn't stand a chance and falls apart in uneven pieces.

"Ruth," Harry shifts forward and moves his hand as if to prevent her from any further napkin destruction. However, he stops short, leaving good several inches between his hand and hers on the table. "You know, it is supposed to be fun, yes?"

"Fun?" she glances at him, then down at their hands. She hesitates before sliding her hand towards his along the worn-out wood. When their fingers touch, Ruth looks up at him, "No bombs, no threats?"

"I can't promise you that much," Harry searches her face before moving his hand a little more, until it covers hers. He carefully rubs her knuckles with the pads of his fingers. "But fun…definitely." Tentatively, he smiles at her, and just as tentatively she smiles back.

"Alright," she finally says, lowering her eyes to their joined hands.


	2. Chapter 2

2.

Ruth doesn't get to ask any question. The game that Harry's offered to play seems to be quickly forgotten by both of them, when Harry slowly turns Ruth's hand in his, so that now he can caress her palm. Mesmerized, Ruth is watching his thumb drawing whimsical patterns across her skin, her cheeks are flushed, her lips are parted. Just as mesmerized, Harry is watching her.

Their stalemate is broken, when people around them start moving closer to the bar. Startled, Ruth twists left and right in her chair, trying to determine the cause of the commotion. In the process, her hand slides out of Harry's grasp, and he looks at his lonely hand left on the table with a gloomy resignation.

"What is going on?" she asks.

He quickly schools his facial expression into the one of mild amusement. "You just missed you chance at the guessing game."

"I have?" once more she looks around.

"Listen," Harry tells her, so she does. Now, over the usual pub noises, she can hear a soft jazz's drums-and-brushes beat, which soon is joined by a piano. Ruth is straining to hear, as an unfamiliar jazz melody quickly transforms into something very much recognizable.

"Is it…Mozart?" her eyes wide, she is staring at Harry. He nods, obviously enjoying her reaction.

The music continues, the beat changes a little, and the melody morphs into another one. Ruth listens with a small smile playing on her lips. "Twenty fifth…" she whispers, and Harry finishes, "symphony."

Now that she knows what she is looking for, Ruth gets up to scan the pub and quickly locates a small stage tacked on the farther side of the bar. There is a lanky, long-haired man, bend over the keyboard of a small piano. The recorded beat comes from a little speaker, set on the top of the piano.

"Can we get closer?" she asks Harry, and for a moment she looks just the way she did all those years ago, when for the first time she burst into his office, dropping files and beaming with the most infectious smile. Stunned, Harry is unable to respond right away. "Harry?" she nudges him, seemingly unaware of the effect she has on him.

"Yes, of course," Harry shakes off his daze and gets up.

They find a spot by the bar, from where they get an unobstructed view of the little stage and the piano player. There is not much room for both of them, so Harry lets Ruth have the counter's space to comfortably lean on, while he positions himself sideways. He places one hand on the counter, thus creating a semicircle around her. Ruth tries to move to make more room for him, but Harry waves her off.

"Enjoy," he tells her, "It's your Birthday."

Ruth is absorbed by the music right away. She nods to the rhythm, smiles, and glances at Harry, when she recognizes familiar classical melody in an unusual jazz interpretation. Harry smiles back at her. However, it is not the music that captivates him. As soon as Ruth's attention is back on the piano player, his eyes are on her, watching so carefully, as if he is trying to capture and commit to memory everything about her – the way her fingers fiddle with the wine glass, the way a wayward strand of her soft hair caress her cheek, the way her eyes spark the brightest of the blues in a deem pub lighting…

"Harry, he is amazing." Once again, Ruth turns to him, her face is lit up. His contemplation momentarily broken, Harry only nods. "You are amazing" he leaves unsaid.

As the performance continues, more and more people are gathering around the bar, and very soon Harry finds himself pushed so close to Ruth that a too deep of a breath, and his chest will be touching her shoulder and his nose will be buried in her hair. In vain, he tries to maintain a somewhat respectable distance between them.

"I am sorry," he tells her, when unexpected commotion behind his back makes him fight for his balance so that he doesn't all but fall onto her.

Ruth takes one glance around them, and, in lieu of an answer, shrugs and takes a hold of his arm. Before Harry can react, she pulls him closer, in effect wrapping him around her, so now they are more or less a single entity - should one of them be forced to move, they would move as one. Stunned, Harry opens his mouth to say something, but Ruth's attention is already back on the piano player. And so, Harry says nothing and, after the initial shock at her boldness, allows himself to shift just a bit closer and to hold her just a bit tighter. In response, Ruth lightly squeezes his sleeved arm.

Neither of them wants the music to end. But eventually it does, and, after the applause die down, the crowd around the bar begins to thin.

"It was great, Harry, thank you for bringing me here," Ruth steps away from him, nonchalant, as if her body hasn't been molded into his for the last half an hour. Harry, whose breathing has gone haywire from the moment Ruth has decided that it was OK to be in his arms for the time being, exhales shakily.

"My pleasure," he says, and he might never has meant it quite like that.

"I think I'll have one more glass," she tells him, as she signals to the bartender. "You?"

Harry, still a bit lightheaded, just nods.

"So, tell me about him," Ruth takes a sip of her drink and nods at the empty stage.

They stand side by side, and there is very much a proper distance between them. Harry, too practiced in their usual 'one step forward two steps back' dance, has already managed to banish the blissful haze induced by having Ruth in his arms. He glances at her, the expression on his face is completely serious, but there are playful sparks dancing in his eyes. "He is a piano player."

Ruth huffs, "Oh, come on, I am sure you've got him vetted." Harry only raises an eyebrow at her, and she snorts.

"He is actually a professional concert pianist," Harry relents. "All kinds of awards and such. This," he waves to the stage, "is a hobby of his. Comes in once a week."

"I got lucky then?" She gazes at him, her blue eyes are wide with wonder. For a split of a second it looks like Harry is about to say something important, but then he just shrugs and with a soft smile responds, "It is your Birthday."

When they leave the pub and step into the chill of the night, Ruth pulls the cardigan tighter around herself. "Thank you, Harry, it was wonderful."

"I am glad you enjoyed it," he dips his head.

They stand for a few long moments, knowing that their time together is about to end, but not sure how to avert the inevitable. Finally, Ruth sighs and looks around.

"I hope you are not thinking about the bus," Harry says.

Ruth frowns at him.

"Please let me take you home," Harry asks, trying not to sound like he is begging. He still kind of does.

"I…" she hesitates.

"It is still your Birthday," he presses on.

"Is it?" she checks the time and ducks her head. Then, after some internal deliberation she concedes, "Fine, but only if you tell me how you found this place."

They walk across the street, and Harry opens the door for her.

"Well?" Ruth asks as she climbs into the car.

He hesitates before offering, "I live not far from here."

"You do?" she glances up at him.

He shrugs and is about to close the door, when she says softly, "Harry..."

He stops midmotion. "Yes?"

Ruth looks down at her hands that are once again fiddling with a button on her cardigan. Harry waits, but before she says anything, he has a guess. "Don't worry about me. I'll take you home, it's not a problem." He then adds with a smile, "Remember, it's your Birthday." He closes the door and walks to his side of the car.

When he gets in and starts the engine, Ruth suddenly says, "Harry, I was wondering…," she takes a deep breath, "if you would like to invite me to yours…for a night cap."

He stares at her, struggling to digest her question.

"Harry?"

Under her gaze he has trouble thinking.

"It is my Birthday," she reminds him. "But if you'd rather not…"

He clears his throat. "Ruth," he clears his throat once again, "would you like to stop by my place for some…tea?"

"I would love to, Harry," smiling she ducks her head, "thank you for the invitation."

Harry stares at her for another long moment, before his face splits in a wide grin.

.

.

.

**A/N** Thank you for reading and reviewing


	3. Chapter 3

3.

The car ride is short, and within five minutes they are standing in front of Harry's house.

Inside, they are greeted by very excited Scarlett. The little dog tries to lick Harry's hand, when he bends to pet her, and when he turns to deal with the alarm, it is just as happy to chase Ruth's hand.

The alarm taken care of, Harry watches Ruth crouch in the middle of his hallway, rubbing Scarlett's head.

"She doesn't get to see many people – a dog walker, a cleaning lady, me, so she is a little over-excited," he offers as an explanation or an excuse, but it looks like none are needed. There is a big smile on Ruth's face, when she looks up at him and chuckles, "Oh, Harry, she is adorable."

"One of us has to be," he deadpans.

"Modesty doesn't become you," Ruth returns, getting up.

"You think I am adorable?" Harry raises an eyebrow.

Ruth bites her lip, pretending that she is studying him. Then, she dips her head, "You have your moments."

"Is this one of those moments?" he carefully asks. Neither of them moves, but they both feel like the distance between them has suddenly shrunk.

They stare at each other, both very much aware they are about to cross an invisible line.

Or not.

After a few long moments Harry sighs and manages a smile. "I think I am neglecting my duties as a host," he gestures, "Please, after you."

However, the only one who follows his invitation is Scarlett. The little dog, wagging its tail happily, scurries along the hallway and quickly disappears in the belly of the house. Ruth remains standing in the same spot.

"Ruth, I…," Harry begins and stops, then tries again. "Would you like to…"

She doesn't let him finish. Two quick steps and she cups his face and kisses him. When she lets him go, Harry hesitates only for a split of a second, before he responds with his own kiss.

There is no boat for her to catch this time around and there is no good byes for them to say, so they both allow their kiss to linger, to deepen, and eventually evolve into another one. And another one. And one more.

Harry tries very hard not to overwhelm her, because he is still not sure that she will not just turn around and flee should she realize what they are doing. And yet, he is unable to keep it light and subtle, as he growls and slides his arms around her, when she sucks on his lower lip. But it looks like Ruth is too busy exploring his mouth to worry about anything else…

Her lips are on his neck, moving lower, while her fingers working on opening buttons of his shirt. Harry's breathing is rapid and shallow, as his head lolls back and his eyes close. His hands are on her waist, but it is unclear is he is holding her or holding on to her.

"Do you have any idea," she murmurs between licks and kisses, "how long I've been dreaming of doing this?" Harry groans.

By the time she gets to the third button, she hits his vest and growls in frustration. Her lips are still on his skin, her hands slide down his sides and begin to pull at his shirt to free it from the pants. Harry opens his eyes to watch her, the expression on his face is one of a slight bewilderment. He warries with himself, before whispering, "Tell me it is not a one-off thing for you." He swallows hard. "Please, tell me that you are not going to change your mind come tomorrow."

She freezes, then lets go of his shirt and steps away from him. "What is it you want, Harry?" With her arms crossed over her middle, it looks like she is trying to protect herself from him. From them. "A wife? A girlfriend? A lover? What?!" Although she sounds angry, the bright blues of her eyes are suspiciously moist.

Powerless to censor himself, he throws, "You, Ruth! I want you!" And then he adds quietly, "I need you." And then he whispers, "I love you."

She sucks in the air, "Oh, Harry."

He rubs his forehead. "I know… My timing is… But…" He looks at her, "I am trying, Ruth." And then repeats helplessly, "I love you."

She takes a step, then another one, and when her body is flush with his, she raises her hand and traces his cheek with her fingertips. "You have a very unconventional way of showing it."

He gazes down at her, barely breathing, as if he is afraid that should he inhale or exhale too hard, she will disappear. "What do you mean?" he searches her face.

"You know I've seen your file, all your honey-trapping operations, all your S24 forms…"

"It's been years, Ruth," he shakes his head.

"So many years that you forgot how to…" she stares at him, "pursue a woman?"

He looks her straight in the eye. "No, but…" He hesitates before offering, "Never before was I so terrified to fail…" It seems like he wants to continue, but isn't able to.

"You?" her eyes are moist again.

"You've refused everything I've ever offered, and…" he chocks, swallows, and looks away.

Ruth cups his face and forces him to look at her. "I'm not refusing you now," she whispers.

This time it's Harry, who kisses her first. He is still cautious, but it is becoming harder and harder for him to keep himself in check, as their lips and hands begin to wander, and Ruth's eagerness matches his own.

They track up the stairs with frequent long stops for more kissing and exploration, shedding the pieces of clothing in the process. When they reach the bedroom, Harry halts their movement with the determination, he isn't exactly felling. He takes a deep breath and asks in a low raspy voice, "Ruth, are you sure?"

She looks up at him, the blue of her eyes almost completely drowned in the black of the blown pupils. "Harry," she whispers, "please…"

He has to take it as an affirmation. He has no choice any more…

The fact that he is a very skilled lover is not a surprise for Ruth. The fact that he is a very generous and gentle one is somewhat unexpected. It feels more like he is worshiping her body, than making love to her. Any thought of reciprocation flies right out of her head, when in a very short order she is practically sobbing, as she is clinging to him and begging shamelessly. Meanwhile, Harry is relentless. Like a starving man, offered a feast, he is savoring every morsel, fully aware of the possibility that it can be his last…

Ruth wakes up to the sound of soft snores. The grey light of the early dawn fills the room. She slowly takes in her surrounding, before turning her head to see Harry. He is lying on his side, close but not quite touching her. She smiles and raises her hand to stroke his damp forehead, but thinks the better of it. Even in his sleep he looks tired, and she doesn't want to rob him of even a moment of respite.

She checks the time and slips out of the bed. As quietly as she can, she moves around, collecting her clothes and things. Instead of the in-suite, she uses the bathroom that she finds in the hallway to clean up and get dressed.

She makes it downstairs and puts in a quick call to order a taxi. At the front door she takes several moments to figure out how to reset the alarm, when she leaves. Scarlett hurries to her to give her a happy greeting, and Ruth bends to pet the little dog, "Shh, Scarlet, be a good girl." Whether the dog understands her or not, but it keeps quite as it licks her hand and scurries back along the hallway.

Ruth checks the time again and raises her hand to punch in the alarm code, but stops before she does. She hesitates, sighs, and then turns around and makes her way up the stairs.

She pauses by the bedroom door, exhales slowly, and pads in. And halts. Harry, who is already awake, lies in the middle of the bed, hugging her pillow. When he sees her, he quickly lets go of the pillow and scrambles to sit up against the headboard, pulling the blanket up to his chest.

"Um, morning," he says, his voice is coarse. With his sparse light hair standing up on the top of his head, the clearly visible stubble, and the rumpled vest, he looks utterly disheveled. Ruth has to bite her lip not to burst out laughing, so she just nods her greeting. Harry clears his throat and continues, "I thought you…left..." And the "me" remains unsaid, but very much implied.

Ruth holds on only for a moment, before she marches to the bed and sits next to Harry. "I didn't want to leave before…" she stops, as if surprised by what she is about to say. "I wanted to tell you… I need you to know…"

"Ruth," he reaches out to touch her hand, "it's alright, it's…."

"No!" she exclaims, "it's not what you think!"

"Oh?" Harry pulls back and crosses his arms over his chest. "What is it then, Ruth?"

She glances down, then forces herself to meet his gaze. "Actually, I should've told you that last night, except for…I was a little preoccupied." She blushes and takes a quick raged breath.

Harry waits, his anxiety apparent only in a slight twitch of the vein at his temple.

"I love you," she finally utters. "Since…I don't know…I guess, forever…I think you need to know that."

Before she has a chance to react, she finds herself on her back, pinned down, with Harry hovering over her. He looks utterly elated. And relieved. As if the enormous weight has been lifted off his shoulder. He smiles. "Oh, Ruth," he says softly before leaning in to capture her lips with his. However, as his smile turns into a wide grin, he has trouble kissing her.

Ruth's grin matches his own, so their kissing is very sloppy and graceless, but neither of them is bothered by it. In no time she is pulling him closer, and his hands seek her bare skin under the layers of clothing.

They are interrupted by a mobile ring.

"It's me, Harry," her arms fall to her sides, "I have to go."

"No, not yet," he murmurs, his lips are on her collar bone, "Please, stay…"

"I can't," she sighs, raising her hand, "We have to be in the office in less than two hours." She smooths the hair on the top of his head.

"Let me take you home then," he still is refusing to stop kissing her skin, "Please, let me…"

"That was my taxi calling..."

"I can drive you," he finally raises his head to look at her.

"Harry, you…" she sighs again, "you have to get ready, and I need to go home and change."

"But…can we…we can do this again…," he trips over his own words, starts again, "Can I take you out? Dinner…breakfast…drinks…anything you want…"

"Harry," she pushes lightly on his shoulders. Obediently, he moves aside, so she can sit up. She straightens her clothes, without looking at him. "I need to go." She gets up from the bed and walks to the door.

"Ruth," he calls after her. "Wait." He jumps out of bed to follow her. "Wait," he repeats as he catches up with her on the top of the stairs and gets in front of her. "Please don't leave like this…"

Ruth ducks her head, "Harry, you need to let me go." She glances at him, but it looks like her resolve is weakening. He knows it, and so he makes one small step towards her and whispers, "Ruth..." And just like that they are kissing again…

It takes them awhile to get all the way to the front door.

"I have to go," she tells him for the umpteen time, but her hands are still holding on to his shoulders.

"Yes," he agrees with her, as his lips are skimming her jaw line and his hands are on her hips, keeping her body flush with his.

"See, this is what I was worried about," she says, softly pushing him away.

"What?" he looks at her.

"This," she is staring at his neck. "Us. Once we…start, we won't be able to stop."

"Most people would see it as a good thing, Ruth," he smiles fondly at her.

"But we are not most people," she finally manages to drag her gaze away from his neck.

"We could be, if you let it, Ruth, and we could be great. We are great," tenderly he strokes her cheek with his fingertips. She shivers. "Give us a chance, love."

She bites her lip and looks down. Her fingers fiddle with a button on her cardigan. "My Birthday is over, Harry."

"But mine is not," he quickly retorts.

"Yours is six months away," she frowns at him.

He barks out a laugh, "I am willing to start celebrating now." Then adds in a more sober tone, "As long as I can do it with you."

Her mobile starts ringing again. Ruth rummages through her bag, pulls it out, and quickly answers, "I am coming." Then she looks at Harry, "I need to go. Could you?" she nods at the alarm pad.

Harry sighs and begins punching in the codes. As soon as there is a beep of disarming, Ruth opens the door and try to slip out. Without hesitation he follows.

"Harry, you can't!" she exclaims, as she gives him a quick, but very pointed glance-over. Bare-feet, clad only in a crumpled vest and trunks, Harry definitely doesn't look street-ready. But he doesn't care, as he moves after her still. Exasperated, Ruth has to take a step back into the house.

"You haven't told me when we can start celebrating my Birthday," he pouts half-jokingly, but there is a clear pleading in his eyes.

Her gaze softens. She leans in to place her lips on his neck. "Mmm," she inhales deeply.

The beeping of the rearming alarm makes her pull away. "Let's deal with Russians first, and then…" she gives him a quick smile before slipping out of the door. This time around Harry doesn't follow her. He remains where she's left him, the expression on his face is a strange blend of incredulity and sheer delight.

Later that morning, as he is getting ready, Harry pauses buttoning his shirt, leaving the top two buttons undone. He studies himself in the mirror, touches the spot on his neck, where Ruth placed her good-bye kiss, and gives his reflection a mischievous grin.


End file.
